


Regalia

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Series: Imperium [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Emperor Hux, Enforcer Ren, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say clothes maketh the man. Ren is the only one allowed to see anything of the person who remains beneath Hux's imperial regalia. And that's mostly because he's the only one entitled to strip it from him.</p><p>(Sort of not really a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5839519"><i>Imperator</i></a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regalia

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be writing something else. Then I got into a kylux chatroom earlier this afternoon and some chatter about Emperor Hux reminded me that I'd started writing this a few weeks back, and then I found about eight hundred words of it in a forgotten Word document. Several hours later, I have several thousand words of an entirely pointless fic about Emperor Hux and his enforcer enjoying some quality time together. Well, _shit_.

The doors slid open, slid closed with no fanfare, no invitation. Hux smiled only to himself, kept his eyes upon the view of the city displayed before him, and said not a word.

But then Ren needed no permission, no introduction. He swept before him now, robes flaring, every motion wrought of quickfire grace as he came before his emperor. There, and only there, did he go to one knee. With one fisted hand pressed to his left breast, Ren bowed his dark head. “I have done as I was bid,” he intoned, low and near-melodious. And when he looked up, expression easy challenge, his lips twitched as if on the verge of laughter. “Would you like to see, your majesty?”

It would be easy enough to kick out one foot, catch him in the throat with the pointed tip of a leather boot. Instead Hux snorted, and his eyes remained fixed upon the skyline. “I believe I said it clearly enough the first time: _no bodies in the palace_.”

And so easily Ren rose to his feet, arms crossed over the broad musculature of his chest. “You think me such a savage.”

With a touch from one small hand, Hux turned slightly to his left; the tailor clicked his tongue, shook his head. And Hux cast an amused look over one shoulder. “No, I think you’re feral. There’s a distinction.”

Ren’s tongue slipped out, curled over his teeth as if cleaning unseen fangs. Then he only smiled, one eyebrow raised. “There are no bodies in the palace.”

“Good. You’re not a felinx, I don’t need you bringing me small dead animals as a show of servitude.”

The tailor indicated he should turn almost entirely around; Hux did so, even as Ren paced a half circle to bring them equal once more. “Surely it’s not servitude if I enjoy it,” he remarked, almost a question; Hux suppressed a snort. Half a lifetime spent as a padawan amongst the remnants of the Jedi Order, cut short by a massacre of his own making, had left Ren a stunted student. But then, there were many things Hux would yet teach him, especially when he proved so willing to learn.

“How fortunate we are to take such pleasure in our work,” he murmured, and felt rather than saw Ren’s ravenous gaze travel over the long lines of his body.

“So we are.”

They both said no more. Ren merely took his usual stance, relaxed but watchful from his favoured shadows, as the tailor continued about his work. The small man scurried across the floor and the raised dais upon which Hux stood, muttering to himself as he fussed over the hem. Loosely tacked to the bottom of the flowing robes, it bore both the Imperial insignia and his own initials, worked together in irrevocable declaration.

Ren tilted his head to one side; Hux could sense the rising hackles as the tailor casually retrieved a pair of scissors from his belt, snipping off a thread before resheathing the blades. For his part the tailor himself seemed unperturbed by Ren’s watchful presence. Most people grew rapidly uneasy in the presence of the Emperor’s enforcer, swiftly making their excuses before escaping the vicinity. From the raised eyebrow Hux had directed his way, Ren was bemused by the little creature. Hux might have laughed, had they been alone.

Instead, he opted for a light clearing of his throat. The tailor looked up, attentive, eyes magnified behind the little Gossam’s working glasses.

“Aregri.” Hux nodded towards the door. “We would have a moment.”

He blinked, and then his head bowed low, long neck exposed and elegant. “Ah. Of course, your majesty.” Already he was gathering his things, stowing the tools away in the bag that Hux had so rarely seen him without. “Shall I come back?”

“Perhaps not tonight.” He did not need to look to Ren to know the other man’s expression. “In the morning. I will summon you when I am ready.”

Without looking up, he made a small agreeable noise. “As you would,” he murmured, backing towards the door; and then, he was gone, small feet tip-tapping down the corridor before the ornamented durasteel hissed closed once more.

And Ren stirred from his stance; to any other person, his expression would have said little. Hux could read clear the frustrated amusement in it. “Funny little thing, isn’t he.”

“People could say the same of you.”

Ren made a low sound in his throat, and drew closer. Hux only smiled to see the beast aroused so easily. The dressmaker’s dais gave him an advantage of height he usually did not wield over the other man. And so he smiled down, one eyebrow arched, as Ren stepped about him. Predatory, now: a slow and knowing gait, eyes moving up and down as he took him in from all angles.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, lazy; after hours of meetings and this fitting, he yearned only for a cigarra, a glass of rich brandy. And he smirked, flicked one hanging sleeve as he added, “You think I have an assassin concealed in my robes of state?”

“There are other dangerous items more likely to be within.”

Genuine laughter had never come easy to him, and even less so in these days. It sounded almost sweet to even his own ear now. “While I appreciate the effort, Ren, I’m not sure this is a game you want to play.”

“No. Maybe not.” Those wide dark eyes felt fit to swallow him whole, staring up at him from beneath the long sweep of his lashes. Hux could not help but pass his tongue over dry lips, his own eyes moving down to the generous mouth half-opened before him.

He had not thought Ren would be back for another day cycle, at least. That had left him only his hand to satisfy himself with. He had had expected more of the same tonight. While Hux had never been highly sexed, as it were, since the days of Ren’s original offer they had rarely ended any day together without some sort of liaison. He could not understand it, did not believe he ever would, and yet, there it was: a fire that burned and burned and yet never seemed willing to burn out.

Ren had folded his arms again. “Shall I tell you of my mission, then?”

Hux raised his arms, considered the fall of the sleeves; Aregri always did fine work, but he would have to discuss this particular silhouette with him, come morning. While Hux had never favoured expressive arm gestures during his oratory, he had been contemplating such addition. “Hmm,” he said, and twisted one wrist. “It was a success, of course. Otherwise you would not have come to me, so bold in word and face.” And he gave him a mocking little smile, let his hand fall. “Do I _need_ the details?”

That little black cloud of disappointment, tainted just a little with pure rage, always brought out such a lovely expression upon Ren’s face. How he did miss his praise, when Hux would dangle it just beyond his reach. “I thought you were all about the details.”

Hux only hummed, shifted his hips, and frowned at the pull of the robes at his waist. And he was smoothing down the thick gaberwool when Ren said, quite sudden:

“I could _show_ you.”

“Is it something I would wish to see?”

He had not been standing at any great distance – Ren rarely strayed far from his emperor’s side, in these days since the fall of Snoke – but he came closer now. One gloved hand moved with easy purpose to his belt. Long fingers caressed the saber hilt hung there, black on silver. With an almost careless gesture he clipped it free; it always seemed such a light and lovely thing in his large hand. Such a movement would send a frisson of fear through a lesser creature: to see this great hulking beast of a man with his favoured weapon but a second from ignition.

Hux’s lips only widened to a cold smile. He knew the whole of it – weapon to man to soul to heart -- to be _his_. And his alone.

Ren moved behind him now. Hux kept his eyes fixed still on the great windows, and the dreaming spires of the city beyond. The setting sun cast orange and pink brilliance across the sky, warning and beautiful alike. But Hux had never feared the dark, or what it might conceal. He only smiled still as Ren pressed closer yet, one hand upon his hip, the other sliding his hand beneath Hux’s own.

The lightsaber hilt felt cool beneath his fingertips, bare of its own usual glove. Hux had weighted the thing in his hand before, once or twice; had even spoken to Ren of places he’d like to put it, though they hadn’t quite reached that particular level of depravity in their bedsport just yet.

But it felt different, now; the tempered weapon of a warrior, just waiting for command. “Shall I show you, then?” Ren whispered, and Hux closed his eyes at the shiver that skipped down his spine like loosed electric charge.

And his hand closed about the hilt, Ren’s gloved fingers strong and knowing over his own. A slight nudge of thumbs, the tiniest of pressure, and: the buzz and low hum of the blade, blazing to life before them. It felt heavier in his hand than he would have expected. And when Ren moved, just a little, just enough: the resistance of it against the air had him drawing sharp breath. Every blow, every swing, had to be a decision made and committed. Every strike of such a weapon would require the entire will of the wielder to be behind it.

Even with the dais between them, Ren stood only a few inches lower. When Hux turned his head, his lips brushed through the soft disaster of his too-long hair; when he breathed deep, he tasted the low scent of sweat, of iron-tang blood.

“What would you show your emperor?” he whispered, and heard the bladed smile of his enforcer’s reply.

“How I killed in his name.”

Back in the academy, there had been no need for the fencing lessons of old. In the days past the fall of the old Empire, it had been seen as a gentleman’s sport in some circles, and a foolish Jedi affectation in others. And the Jedi Order was dead. The First Order was in the ugly throes of birth. Hux had been a deadshot with a blaster from the first time they told him he would be tested on it. He’d never learned how to hold a blade, ceremonial or otherwise.

And with the lightsaber in his hand now, Hux felt the gentle play of its master against his mind. So easy it would be, to allow him to slip inside, to follow his memories, his path, to know what atrocities he had committed to secure Hux’s place upon the new throne.

And Ren’s lips were close, his breath warm even through the thick gaberwool of the ceremonial robe. “It’s my arm.” And he laughed, breathy and deep. “But you decide where it falls.”

And Hux turned, bent just low enough to press their lips together in fierce kiss; he cared not for the blade, knew that Ren would never let it press against his precious flesh. With teeth and tongue he demanded entrance, took what he wanted. When he drew back, there was only the sound of their laboured breaths – and the song of the saber, low and constant and knowing.

“Turn it off.”

Ren raised an eyebrow, pale skin flushed and lips reddened with his own blood. “You would not see what I did for you?”

“I see everything.” His naked hand closed about Ren’s chin, nails digging deep into soft flesh. “ _Turn it off_.”

Only when it was back upon his belt, with Ren standing at loose attention before him, did Hux permit the faintest smile, such thin approval. And Ren’s lips tightened, giving over to a frown as he appeared to take in Hux’s appearance properly for the first time since arrival.

“And you say that _I_ overdress.”

With a snort, Hux raised his arms, displayed the full width of the sleeves. “This at least holds some dignity.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

They could speak of old queens, of ancient customs, of a planet named Naboo, but Hux decided to keep it for another day. He would so enjoy dressing Ren to his own tastes, when the time came. “And what would you call it, _Lord_ Ren?” he asked instead, and did not startle when Ren’s hands clasped at his belt.

“In my _way_.”

And yet, for all his sudden movement, Ren proceeded to demonstrate an unusual reverence for the robe of state, pinned and loosely stitched as it was. Ren was rarely so careful of Hux’s things, no matter the punishment. Or perhaps because of the punishment. Hux had become dangerously creative behind closed doors.

Ren now worked wordless and swift, and did not stop at the half-finished robes. Hux himself moved only as was necessary; he revelled instead in the delicacy of Ren’s movements, as if he served his god. And then, when he was done, Ren looked up: and from the devotion in those dark eyes, Hux felt as if perhaps Ren truly believed he did.

Now naked before him, dizzied by the power gifted before him in the form of this man, Hux tilted his head to one side, permitted himself a lazy smile. “Are you satisfied now?” he asked, soft. And Ren blinked, just once. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like distant brontide, a gathering storm.

“I wanted to make sure you were still there. Underneath it all.”

“Where else would I be?”

And for a moment, Ren stood silent. Watchful. A dark guardian indeed, and Hux could not feel him in his mind. In these moments he regretted his lack of Force sensitivity, though in practice he wanted nothing of it. Yet when Ren grew still and quiet, he wondered. His own power had grown in dizzying broad strokes; those who had mocked him as too young to become a general had not lived long enough to see him become Emperor.

But Ren had. And for all Hux’s power, newfound and old, he had no real way knowing of how powerful Ren had himself become. In assisting Hux to his ascent of the throne Kylo Ren had thrown off a dark master, the entirety of the knights, his family, and Jedi teachings: all former attachments but one.

_But is it a strong enough leash? Will it choke him to silence if pulled hard enough?_

And Ren sighed before him, stepping close. One hand closed about a thin ankle, thumb circling over the spur of bone on its outer side. “You think too much.”

Hux looked down, snorted. “Hardly good advice from one who never thinks enough.”

And Ren did not look up. Both hands now worked the muscle of one calf, strong and knowing. “You don’t fear me,” he said, very low. And Hux could only give a light shrug, his cock already stirring between his bare thighs. The truth so often was the simplest route open to them both.

“No.”

And he glanced up, those dark eyes half-hooded, hair falling over his forehead. With one hand Hux reached down, flicked it away.

“Should I be?”

And he closed them. “No.”

When they had sex, Hux often left his gloves on; but then, he rarely took off all of his clothes, even in the privacy of his own chambers. Oddly, for one who so covered himself from head to foot, Ren seemed to enjoy being naked before him. He moved his head, pressing his cheek into the rarity of Hux’s bare touch; leaning over him still, Hux moved it into his hair instead. It had always been oddly soft, very thick and shiny.

“I was never allowed a narglatch as a child,” he said, soft; Ren let out a little huffing breath.

“How deprived you must have been.”

They rarely spoke of their upbringings. Hux saw no need to clarify how it had been in the Unknown Regions. “No, but there were reasons,” he said, and dug his nails into his scalp, almost to the point of blood. “Adorable when young. Rather dangerous with increasing age.”

“Oh, yes.” And Ren pressed harder into what had become a fisted grasp, half-suppressing a low moan. “Coruscant had that issue once, didn’t it? Pets grown too large, and then run amok.” And he laughed, glanced up from beneath the deceptive length of his soft lashes. “I think I remember being told some even killed and ate their masters before they escaped.”

With a raised eyebrow, Hux took his hand, withdrew it with cool appraisal. “Sometimes I wonder that you even eat at all.”

“Oh, do I sense some concern?”

Straightening now, Hux allowed himself to pass both hands back through his hair; even his nudity could not undermine the perfect haughtiness of his gaze. “Unlike you, I prefer to keep all of my belongings in pristine condition.”

“Liar.”

And he laughed; he simply could not help himself. “But then some things are beyond saving.” He gave a light slap to one cheek. “Take off your clothes. And get on your back.”

Still upon the dressmaker’s dais, Hux watched as Ren obeyed, not a hint of shyness about him as he stripped bare. But then Kylo Ren had always desired attention, had always needed an audience. The long and gangling body, revealed inch by careless inch, had Hux’s hands curling to fists; how he wanted to reach out for it. To claim it. Hux knew intimately the strength of that body, obvious as it should have been in the whip-corded muscle. But Ren could seem so dismissive of it, an overgrown child with adult’s form, unknowing of the great wellspring of power within.

Hux knew. And he closed his eyes, and breathed deep, even as Ren said, very soft, “Where would you have me?”

“Everywhere,” he said, before he could think to bite back on the thought. The flare of the dark eyes was all the reward he needed; there was no need to be Force-sensitive to catch his thoughts. Hux filed a certain few away. Certainly Ren was not the only one who might enjoy sex upon the imperial throne.

Without another word Hux nodded towards a chaise-lounge, across the room. Only when Ren lay on his back, legs open, arms sprawled over his head, did Hux descend. Crossing the room in easy military step, he came to an easy halt before him, gazing down upon the long and hard length of his scarred body.

One hand rose, came to rest upon on his waist. Even without granting verbal permission, Hux allowed Ren to draw him close. The awkward length of his nose felt warm against his skin, as Ren nuzzled against his hip; there, upon the delicate skin, Hux felt the faintest hint of a beard’s new scruff. Ren had scarcely washed before coming to him.

And that knowledge brought with it the hard and burning wish that he hadn’t, at all. Hux rarely had any interest in battle as observed from the ground. But then, he had seen many a feed of Ren, standing alone and upright amongst the dismembered bodies of his fallen opponents. Blood-soaked, and honour bound: how Hux would wish then to go to him, to stand before that wild-eyed creature with violence trembling yet beneath his heated skin. And he alone would be the one to strip him bare, to lay him down, to have him for his own. Over and over again.

Straddling Ren in one easy motion, Hux reached over to the small side table at the head of the couch. Leaning forward in such fashion had his half-hard cock dragging against Ren’s abdomen, Ren’s own pressed like a brand against one thigh. Hux purposefully took his time: opening the drawer, curling long fingers around the jar within, taking the thing from its accustomed place. Only when he heard Ren’s low rumble of protest did he withdraw, sitting back upon his hips, buttocks soft against the hard muscle of Ren’s thighs.

Looking down, Hux found Ren’s pupils blown very wide. And he could only stare, lovely and needful in this blank devotion. And he sighed, remembered the weight of Ren’s saber in his own hand, the trembling withheld violence of it between them.

Without a word Hux reached down. Their eyes did not break contact as he began to slowly stroke over Ren’s cock. He had turned so hard already; Hux’s own hardening came in welcome response even as he touched himself not at all. The other hand rose, fingers splayed, over the etched lines of muscle; it came to a stop only over his throat. There, he permitted himself a faint tightening. It earned a low smile in return.

“Is _that_ the game you want to play tonight?”

The rumbling of his vocal cords thrummed beneath his fingers. Hux caught a breath, closed his eyes, just for a moment. Then he opened them, allowed his hand to dip low, to flick gently over one nipple. “No, not particularly.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.” His hand tightened, nails raking down his chest. “I want _you_.”

So many wondered how the Emperor kept his enforcer in line. They all found it so very strange; Ren himself was known to be a powerful Force user, while Hux himself publically disdained the entire concept. They could not imagine how Hux could keep him under his thrall, when the power differential was so large.

But it was so simple. It was not even sex, not in the way base rumour would have it.

He simply gave Ren what he wanted.

“You,” he said, again. And his other hand continued to gentle over the head of his cock, thumb gathering clear fluid, mixing it with the lubricant in easy circle. “I always want _you_.”

The dark eyes flared, possessive and demanding: but Hux had learned to see beyond that, to his desperate need to be wanted in return. And Hux could provide such simple physical proof of his own desire as one hand moved back, fingers sliding into his ass.

With a hand now braced on his abdomen, he arched forward, their lips but moments from one another. Their breathing turned heavy and hot, but not laboured. And he smiled as their eyes locked, Ren’s hand over his own cock now, lazy but sure, keeping himself ready. Making himself available for his emperor.

And when Hux chose, it was almost too easy, to tilt his hips forward. To slide down, to take him deep. Ren, eyes rolling back in his head, let his shoulders fall back as his sweat-sheened chest pushed forward. Hux gasped, caught it with his teeth about his lower lip; he’d paused, just halfway down the shaft. And now he pushed down from the heel of one palm, centred on Ren’s chest, holding him steady, pressing him back.

“Shush,” he said. “Hold still, damn you.”

The resultant low whimper was not a sound any would expect to hear from the rabid attack dog of the new emperor. But Hux knew the sound intimately. Sometimes he even dreamed of it, when it was not his for the taking. But it this moment, everything was his. And he allowed himself to move down, to take him whole. Ren was his. Ren would always be his. And he closed his eyes, letting himself adjust, though he had always worn victory so very well.

“Hux.” And Ren shuddered beneath him, the great body alive with fresh desire. “ _Please_.”

Slowly he let his eyes drift, hooded where they looked down upon Ren. “Please?”

“Your majesty.” And his head moved from side to side, hair wild, eyes wide and wanting. “Your majesty, _please_.”

It was for them both, that he began to move: a slow tidal movement, up and down. Often, with Ren, his arousal was a wicked and demanding thing; it drowned them both in hot kisses, writ with blood and bruises. The whole thing could be over in little more than a few grasping desperate moments. Hux did not want that now. His own desire had awoken tonight as a slow and curling thing, low in his abdomen. As he rolled his hips, he invited it ever and surely forward. Bracing his hands on wide shoulders, he leaned forward so their lips barely touched. His hair fell in his eyes; he made no motion to move it. Even now he could see it perfectly: Ren’s mouth, slightly open, eyes wide and dreaming.

“Can I touch you?” He spoke in a low voice: hoarse, almost pitiful. And with a smile Hux whispered the inevitable reply against his lips.

“Of course.”

He had expected hands on his hips, a bold attempt to hurry him along. But one rose to cradle his face, the other carding through his hair. The faint bemusement of it never ceased to startle Hux, the almost childish wonder on his face whenever he did this.

“Don’t tell me it’s the colour of autumn fire, of embers at midnight,” he said, very sudden, harsher than expected. “I already have your cock in me, I’m in no need of seduction by fatuous poetry.”

And Ren only shook his head, voice low, half-broken. “It’s beautiful.” And his laughter was soundless, eyes still wide. “That’s all. It’s just…beautiful.”

Hux, master of oratory, had no words for that. He could only reward him with a squeeze, with a tilt of hips that drew a gasping moan from his trembling lips. And then he was laughing, capturing that idiot mouth and anything else it might say, driving down upon his upturned hips.

One hand reached between them, closed around his cock. The other stayed in his hair. Hux told himself he didn’t care, even as warm heat burned beneath every inch of his skin. In this it became so easy to chase what always wanted most to be caught, devoured, reborn again. And he came first; it was so rare, for it to be otherwise. It was as if Ren could find no satisfaction until Hux took his. And that would become faintly disturbing, whenever he was fool enough to consider it later.

Instead it felt easier, now, to just lie upon him. In truth he would need to rise, and soon; Hux could never stand to be dirty. And yet the heat of him soothed even Hux to stillness. Ren could prove strangely comfortable, for all his angular muscle and gangling limbs.

And from here, upon the chaise-lounge, Hux could look out upon the city below. Night had brought its starred curtain further down, across the sky, but not enough that he could not see his way. His empire lay before him, still. He would surrender it for nobody.

“Hux?”

“What?”

The kiss came slow, and strange. Ren kept his eyes closed, as if trying to create some memory that had little to do with the actual reality it was derived from. With a sigh, Hux drew back, and rose. There was a refresher attached to this particular morning-chamber; he visited it briefly, returned with a damp warm cloth in hand. But Ren had already risen from the chaise-lounge, had crossed to the great window. There he stood as a statue, naked in silhouette against the glass, the city opened before him.

Setting aside the cloth Hux instead took a robe and wrapped it loose about himself, not bothering with the belt. Cross-legged upon the couch, a cigarette in hand, he settled back to admire this new view. He had smoked two down almost to the filter before Ren turned from his silent meditation. With the lights now pitched low, he had become a pale shadow against his imperial city; a ghost, of times long past. When the Jedi had still served the Senate of Coruscant.

Hux pushed aside the faint shiver that had drawn a cold finger down his spine. He had no connection to the Force. Visions of the future, no matter how fleeting or strange, were no concern of his. He and Ren were not even at the height of their power. They had years before them, yet.

And perhaps Ren heard the thought. As if waking from a dream, he rolled his shoulders, muscular and wide. Hux’s gaze could not help the hungry way they drank the motion in; when he glanced up, he found Ren’s dark eyes gleaming and greedy. They glanced to the discarded regalia first, then back to Hux, where the opened robe showed clearly his interest in Ren’s nude form. His own cock had already began to rise again.

And he smiled, dark and curious, as one hand waved over the clothes he had so recently taken from him. “Shall I dress you, again?”

Hux uncrossed his legs, lazy and wide. “Make of me an Emperor, perhaps?”

There was but the faintest of warnings, there. Ren only shrugged; so easily he could slip under the mantle of his damnable beliefs. “We are all what we were born to be.”

Stubbing out the remnants of his cigarette, Hux allowed himself a smirk of his own. “Oh, is that the wisdom of the Force?”

And again, that odd seriousness. “The Force shapes destinies. It does not control them.”

“And we do?” he asked, quite genuine. For a long moment Ren said nothing. But then, Hux so rarely spoke of the Force. Perhaps he only wanted to make the conversation count, for he could not know when the opportunity would come again.

And then he just shrugged, again. “What do you think?”

“I think you should leave that robe where it is, and come sit on my dick.”

His eyes turned very dark, and for a moment Hux thought he might turn away. And then it was gone – and then it was over. As Hux’s own low laugh echoed every step the other man took, Ren crossed the room and came down into the opened hands of his emperor.


End file.
